


What a lovely day to be making enemies

by Padawan_Writer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And he's got too much energy, Annoying everyone and loving it, F/M, Fluff, Fun, Humor, Kissing, Play Fighting, Sherlock is bored, Total goofballs, going crazy, having fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26843098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padawan_Writer/pseuds/Padawan_Writer
Summary: No social inhibitions means why notmake outhave a water fight in a perfect stranger’s hallway? What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson & Reader, Sherlock Holmes/Reader, Sherlock Holmes/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	What a lovely day to be making enemies

It’s a bright Sunday afternoon, just the day for a little light crime solving to liven up the weekend. After some fun in the park, you and Sherlock and John have ended up in the big hall of some rich guy’s house waiting for him to come and greet you because of some stolen valuables.

The hall is large and square, well lit with natural light and littered with a lot of cheap white statues in bad taste. The owner is rather rudely taking a long time to come down and greet you. You and Sherlock are becoming dangerously bored.

Slyly, Sherlock pulls a water pistol out of his pocket. You look at it, then up at him. He looks at it, and then at you. The same thought is going through your minds. “Do it!” You grin.

He points it at you and pulls the trigger, splashing you with water down your front. Shrieking and laughing, you turn and run and he dashes after you, water soaking you for all he’s worth, laughing.

“You’re in _someone else’s_ house! Guys! Stop acting like three year olds!” John yells in exasperation.

Both of you ignore him. 

You and Sherlock weave around the room, not caring about all the water you’re getting on this rich asshole’s wallpaper and floor as you try and dodge Sherlock’s wild water pistol shots.

“I’m coooming! And it’s a hit! You’ve lost a life! Point to Sherlock! Aaaand it’s another hit!” Sherlock is yelling.

In the background, John slides down the wall he was leaning against and facepalms.

As first you and then Sherlock dash around a big faux-greek porcelain statue, it totters and smashes on the floor into one thousand seven hundred and twenty three pieces of varying shapes and sizes.

“Oops.” You say, folding your arms and surveying the damage. Sherlock snorts with laughter.

John gets up with decision. “Right, that’s it. I’m out.” He pushes through the glass doors and figuratively rides away into the sunset.

As you are still musing over the one thousand seven hundred and twenty three pieces of ugly porcelain, Sherlock takes advantage of your distraction to point the pistol with his hand on his wrist, sight your head, and pull the trigger.

You jump back against the wall with a squeal, hair dripping with water. Sherlock drops the pistol in his pocket and steps forward, placing his hands on either side of you on the wall.

You look up into his blue eyes and pretend to be annoyed. “Look at me! I’m soaking!”

“I am looking at you and I observe that you are indeed, soaking.” Sherlock narrows his eyes. “Increased heart rate, blushing and dilated pupils all indicate that you are also enjoying the situation.”

This man, trapping you against the wall, enjoying his act of Sherlock Holmes The Cold Mysterious Genius Detective With Zero Social Knowhow… and all you can see is a big fluffy off-beat otter teddy who needs more cuddles in his life. “Come here, you.” You reach up and clasp your hands around his neck and his hair and pull him down to kiss you.

The corner of his mouth twitches, and he presses his mouth against yours: he’s not making it gentle but going straight in for passionate. He lets go of of the wall and grabs your shoulders. You feel on fire, twisting your fingers through his thick curls, trying to devour every atom of your own special fluffy genius.

“Excuse me, am I interrupting something?” A cold male voice says. You both pull apart and swerve to face him, and in perfect synchrony pull huge fake smiles and yell, “Hi!”

“What on earth is going on? Exactly _what_ kind of sex were you having in MY HALLWAY? LOOK AT IT! JUST LOOK!” The bald red-cheeked owner of the house frowns like a pug trying to be a thunderstorm.

“We were investigating your break in!” You smile chirpily.

Sherlock picks up on your cue. “Yes, the perpetrators seemed more intent on doing damage than actually stealing things—hence the broken statue—which indicates a revenge tactic or simply rage, possibly under the influence of alcohol or other substance abuse.” He whips out his microscope and gets down on his hands and knees examining the one piece of the one thousand seven hundred and twenty three that happens to be the naked statue’s penis.

“Possibly by your own good self or one of your friends,” you say. The chubby man looks as if he’s about to explode very messily. “It’s quite obvious that you’re an alcoholic and your wife is thinking of leaving you.”

The man would have had roaring flames on his head if this was a Pixar film, and Sherlock swings round to look at you in admiration. He proceeds to prove your statement by pointing out details of the man’s clothing in one long breathless monologue. “—and since it’s quite clear that the case you called us in for of stolen valuables was merely you trying to frame your good wife for stealing, I wish her good luck in the divorce. Good bye.” Sherlock finishes with the fake cheerfulness he uses on people he despises.

Both of you saunter out of the door of the trashed hallway as the man yells obscenities after you. The sun is shining. “What a lovely day to be making enemies,” you say happily, slipping your hand in to Sherlock’s.

“How did you know about his wife and the alcoholism?” He asks.

“Followed her Patreon for the case.” The look on his face makes you laugh, the way he screws up his nose. “Sherlock sweetie, sometimes the shortest line between two points is a straight line!”

He stops in the street and puts his hand on your chin, mischievously guides you to look up at him, raises one eyebrow. “And that is why I need you,” he says and plants a kiss on your lips.

**Author's Note:**

> The first half of this work (up to “Oops!”) is based entirely on, I kid you not, a dream I had last night. I have very vivid dreams when I’m stressed and this was too good an idea not to use. Sometimes story ideas do come to writers in dreams, though not as often as we’d like. Anyway, that's why it's so wild. Hope you liked it!


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